Book Preview - Patterns of the Past: Tattoo Revival in the Cook Islands

Therese Mangos and John Utanga's Book traces the history and practice of tattooing (tātatau) in the Cook Islands. Through the ancient oral traditions of its people, reports of often repressive early Western visitors and rich archival material.

CONTENTS

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PREFACE

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As an observer at the 1992 Festival of Pacific Arts in the Cook Islands, I was intrigued by a group of artists who appeared to me to have captured the imagination of onlookers like no other group had. Tattooists from various

corners of the Pacific, they were practising on eager locals who were not the least perturbed by their ordeal or by the social stigma commonly associated with tattoos. The times, it seems, were a-changing.

Being of Cook Island descent through my mother Tuaine, who was born and raised in the village of Ruatonga on Rarotonga, I was inspired to have a tattooed memento of my own. So I began the task of finding a design appropriate to my heritage. I turned to the Cook Islands Library and Museum in Avarua, hoping to find something I could use. This turned out to be a fruitless task, but it sparked a desire within me to find out more. I soon discovered that, despite the volumes dedicated to the practice of tātatau in other parts of the Pacific, such as Samoa and the Marquesas, very little had been recorded or published about the tattoo culture of the Cook Islands. What information did exist was sporadic and buried in a myriad of sources. Therein lay the challenge for me: how to collect this cultural treasure into one resource, accessible to all. That’s been the motivation for this book, which has spanned almost two decades and become something of a journey for me.

PREFACE 2

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After flying solo for some of that journey, it became clear to me that this was not something I could do on my own, so I called on my cousin, John Utanga, to collaborate with me. Not only did John contribute his impressive writing skills, honed from years spent as a journalist and television director, but his understanding of Cook Islands culture and his first-hand experience of growing up in the islands have been invaluable. With John’s knowledge and patience, the project took on a life of its own.

Why is there such a lack of tātatau information out there?Simplyput,themissionariesaretoblame.Traditional religious beliefs, rituals and practices were the first target of the missionaries when they arrived in the early nineteenth century, and they took to their task with typical religious fervour. Given that nearly every aspect of everyday life was governed by religious observance or ritual of some kind, the arrival of the missionaries had a huge impact throughout all levels of Polynesian society. Rituals and artwork directly connected with pre-Christian religion were among the first to go, followed by the banning of practices such as tātatau that were seen as “evil” or unholy. While the missionary ban had an immediate impact, particularly in Rarotonga, the long-term effect was to force the practice underground and into obscurity. The traditional method of applying tātatau is no longer practised, but it is unclear just when it fully ceased.

The abolition of the practice of tātatau and the subsequent loss of the art created a void of information on this art form which has not been easy to fill. This book is a compilation of surviving information and artefacts in libraries and museums across the globe, of numerous remnants of writings by explorers, ethnographers, colonial officials and even missionaries. It is ironic that, while the missionaries went to great lengths to destroy idols and religious sites, they were also avid collectors. Many of the pieces they saved have ended up in the British Museum. Interviews with modern-day tātatau practitioners, artists, elders and other interested individuals are also an important part of this book.

Owing to the lack of evidence relating to the northern Cook Islands, I have had to focus mainly on the southern group – although in my examination of “non-tātatau” practices, such as scarification, the northern Cook Islands do feature.

In the course of writing this book, it soon became clear to me that the work of renowned Maori ethnographer Te Rangi Hiroa, also known as Sir Peter Buck, would play a major role. He made a vast contribution to the documentation of Cook Islands arts and crafts at a time when these were still fresh in people’s memories. It is important to acknowledge Te Rangi Hiroa’s role in the preservation of Cook Islands arts and crafts, and I have drawn extensively from his writings.

This book is just the beginning of an exploration of the language of tātatau. It is a comparative study that offers some definitive patterns, documenting the shared use of these patterns where appropriate and my hypothesis as to their function. From this, I believe, we can determine which patterns our ancestors used to adorn the human body, even though so little information on Cook Islands tātatau remains.

Finally, this book has been a challenge and an inspiration. It is certainly not the last word on tātatau if recent experience is anything to go by. Very late in the piece, thanks to the internet, I discovered a long-lost print of Makea Pori, a Rarotongan chief at the time of first contact with the missionaries. Until this print came to light, only one other image of a tattooed Cook Islander was known to exist! I’m sure there are many more images and stories out there and, in time, they will emerge from the murky depths of libraries, universities and personal collections. This, combined with the fact that Cook Islands tātatau has gone from strength to strength during its renaissance, means there will definitely be more to add to this book in years to come.

Therese Mangos

TĀTATAU

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The word tātatau is made up of the words tā, to strike or tap and tatau, the results of the tapping. It is the term commonly used across the southern Cook group to refer to tattooing, with some slight variations. In Mangaia, for example, the process was called tātipatipa, and in Ngā-Pū-Toru (Ātiu, Ma‘uke and Miti‘āro) it was known as nana‘o, a term that was also used in the Society Islands. Other words used in some communities were ‘akairo, meaning to mark or impress with a sign or symbol, and pana, which means to prick.Tātatau was applied using a comb-like chisel made from pearl oyster shell or from the bone of a bird, dog, pig or rat, and possibly human bone. This was fastened to a wooden handle to form the ‘ui tatau – the instrument used to impregnate the ink into the skin. In Mangaia the ‘ui tatau was called the ivi tātipatipa (bone). Fastened like an adze, the comb handle was struck by a rākau pāpā (a piece of wood used like a mallet), which in Aitutaki was known as a rākau patupatu. The tātatau combs typify those used throughout most of eastern Polynesia, but few examples exist in the Cook Islands today. In the late 1980s, several tātatau chisels were excavated at archaeological sites in Ma‘uke and on Mangaia.1 On Ma‘uke, three chisels were found at Anai‘o made from mammal bone and pearl...

TĀTATAU 2

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...shell. On Mangaia, eight chisels, all bone, were found at Tangatatau and two more bone chisels were found at Vairoronga. Each chisel had a small hole drilled at one end, to enable easier attachment to the wooden handle with sennit fibre. According to archaeologist Richard Walter, the instruments were very similar to the tattooing chisels of the New Zealand Māori – with a hole at the top of the blade, a narrow blade, and the use of bone. In 2008 an archaeological dig at Nikaupara in Aitutaki uncovered what was thought to be a tattoo chisel allegedly made from a piece of polished human jawbone.2 However, there is debate over whether it is a tattooing implement or pendant, as it does not follow the eastern Polynesian tātatau chisel form.To make tatau, the ‘ui tatau was dipped into the prepared pigment, placed on the skin, and lightly struck with the tapping instrument. Any blood that oozed out was swabbed away (‘ōroi toto – ‘ōroi to swab, toto, blood) with a piece of bark cloth. The pigment used was obtained from the soot of the sweet-smelling candlenut (tuitui – Alleurites mollucana). The soot was scraped from the inside of an inverted half coconut shell cup suspended over the flame of a burning candlenut and mixed with water to the required consistency. The general term for this was ngāra‘u – charcoal or soot.Tatau were applied by a highly skilled practitioner known as the ta‘unga tātatau, who were rewarded with gifts for services rendered commensurate with the status of the person tattooed. Both men and women were eligible to be tattooed. In times of war, men would wear theirs like a signature of their tribe, and women were not averse to wearing tatau in order to appear more attractive. The application of tatau was a ritual symbolising mana, status, and beauty, offering spiritual protection and proclaiming the wearer’s identity. This ritual is well documented in other parts of Polynesia – for example, in Samoa – but sadly no record of a similar Cook Islands practice exists today. However, because Polynesian religion demanded ritual adherence to presiding deities in almost every aspect of daily life, we can assume that a tātatau ceremony existed, which would have involved strict tapu and would have been followed by great feasting – an event that is still a strong part of Polynesian culture.Today, what we know about the practice and particu- larly the patterns used in tātatau has largely been provided by early explorers and visitors, the missionaries, colonial officials, and anthropologists such as Te Rangi Hiroa. Although many of the very early observations are short on specifics, together with the archeaological findings, they paint a clear picture of Cook Islanders entrenched in the practice of tātatau at the time of European contact. These observations also reveal that tātatau in the form of ink markings seem to have been restricted to the southern group, whereas a rudimentary form of body adornment, scarification, seems to have prevailed in the northern group. Scarification involves the scarring of the body with a sharp instrument in such a way as to create a unique set of patterns across the skin.According to Captain Cook, the only island of the southern group not to have practised tātatau was Manuae, where those who greeted him did not appear to be tattooed.3 However, Cook made this observation on his third voyage of discovery, which was really his second visit to the island. On his previous visit to Manuae, when he named it Hervey Island, he recorded that it was uninhabited. What this suggests is that Manuae had a transient population. On...

TĀTATAU 3

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... Cook’s visits to all the other islands of the group, the ships were greeted by heavily tattooed people.Once the missionaries became established, tātatau as a practice literally disappeared. Initially, it was driven underground, but over time, as fewer people chose to become tattooed, the need for tātatau specialists declined. For those who were already tattooed, opportunities to display tatau became limited, as the missionaries preferred people to cover themselves in clothing from head to toe. In those areas where the missionary influence was weakest, such as in the outer islands, the no-tattooing rule took longer to become established. This partly explains why Hiroa and Gudgeon were able to talk to the likes of Tangitoru, Kake Maunga and their contemporaries who were still wearing tattoos in the early 1900s. Tangitoru was from Mangaia, and Kake Maunga was from Aitutaki. Rarotonga would have been a different story; it was the base of the mission regime, which would have exerted much tighter control over the local population through its laws and its relationship with the ruling chiefs. By the time Hiroa visited Rarotonga in the late 1920s, he was able to speak to only four old men about their fading and supposedly incomplete tattoos. While formal, traditional tātatau may have largely disappeared by the time of Hiroa’s visit, however, there is anecdotal evidence that tattoos were used to identify Cook Islanders working as itinerant labourers in the guano islands of French Polynesia.4 Whether this practice persisted is unclear, but it is obvious that tātatau in its traditional form was no longer practised in the latter half of the twentieth century.In 1992 an event took place in the Cook Islands that galvanised the revival of tātatau among a new generation. The Festival of Pacific Arts or Mairenui helped launch a few Cook Islands tātatau enthusiasts and artists onto a wider stage. No doubt they were inspired by their own rich history of tātatau, but the influence of tātatau practitioners from other countries cannot be underestimated. Tahitian tātatau has been a constant source of inspiration for Cook Islanders, but even their efforts pale in comparison with the tufuga tātatau5 from Samoa, where traditional tātatau has continued unabated despite the missionary influence.Tātatau practitioners in the Cook Islands today favour the use of modern tools, such as the electric gun, which pulses tattoo needles and pigment through the skin surface.

TĀTATAU 4

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Unlike the traditional method, using rākau pāpā and ‘ui tatau, the tattoo gun allows for greater freedom in the types of designs that can be achieved. For example, fine detailing can be done more accurately, and curved forms are easier to reproduce. However, there is one tattooist currently practicing in the Cook Islands who is using traditional tattooing tools. Englishman and tattooist Croc Coulter apprenticed under New Zealander Inia Taylor 6 to learn the traditional tattooing method. While tapu governed traditional tātatau practice, similar restrictions apply today for reasons of health and safety. The prevalence of transmittable diseases means that new needles must be used for each client, and a clean and sterile environment is essential, whether or not this is covered by local bylaws. The proper care of a freshly drawn tatau is also important. This regime must be communicated accurately by the tātatau artist, as the consequences of not doing so could prove disastrous. In this modern context of tātatau practice, an explosion of new and exciting designs has occurred. Reinterpretations of old patterns have also thrived, keenly sought out by Cook Islanders all over the world wanting to make a connection with their homeland.

THE RENAISSANCE

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The renaissance of tātatau in the modern era can quite rightly be traced back to 1992, to the sixth Festival of Pacific Arts in Rarotonga. Held every four years throughout the Pacific, the purpose of the festival is to bring people together “in a welcoming and social gathering to exchange cultures, for mutual understanding and appreciation of one another’s culture.”1The very first one was held in Suva, Fiji in 1972. At that time, the intention of the festival was very clear: to fight against the disappearance of traditional arts and culture in the Pacific, in the face of the overwhelming presence of European culture and values. At the same time, it was intended to encourage the preservation of indigenous art forms to give them new currency in the modern era.When the Cook Islands hosted the festival in 1992, it became a watershed event for tattoo enthusiasts, practitioners and admirers. The festival brought together performers, composers, writers, poets and artists from around the region in a country eager for exposure to new people, ideas and inspiration. Among that community of visiting artists was a group of tātatau artists, who brought with them tools, techniques and designs, as well as their own beautifully adorned bodies. Set up at the festival craft site, the overseas tattooists set about practising their...

THE RENAISSANCE 2

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... art form on a community eager to find out more. They were one of the festival’s main attractions, and many young Cook Islanders came away fascinated by the art form, if not wearing a small tatau themselves. The festival was as profound an influence in the revival of tātatau as the advent of Christianity had been in its demise. Driving interest in tātatau at the time was the resurgence in traditional vaka sailing and design, partly because of the strong maritime theme of the festival. A vaka pageant symbolising the gathering of Pacific nations and local communities was one of the festival’s main events, and villages were encouraged to enter a craft. Spurred on by the challenge to prepare for the pageant, whole communities busied themselves in the design and construction of their vaka. No stone was left unturned in the pursuit of this task, and the result was a greater awareness of forgotten traditions. The Uritaua vaka in Avatiu was constructed under the watchful eye of Tahitian designer Gerald Garnier and blessed by his countryman Raymond Graffe. Graffe was brought in to offer spiritual guidance; he looked every bit the ancient Polynesian mariner, with his impressive array of tatau. In the decades leading up to 1992, tātatau was largely frowned on in the Cooks and rarely practised with distinction. Those who wore truly memorable, mostly contemporary designs had probably received their tatau in parlours overseas. On the local scene, a group of inmates at the Arorangi prison were the most well-known practitioners. Using rudimentary needle instruments, their handiwork consisted of crude motifs and gang insignia, often with anti-social messages. Little regard was given to the artistic merit or cultural and social significance of their work. However, there is anecdotal evidence that tātatau was practised on Rarotonga and in some outer islands right up until the 1950s, and perhaps even into the 1970s, though it is likely that this was confined to a small circle of enthusiasts. It is not clear whether the designs were traditionally inspired or modern.2 In the late 1980s, there were signs that something fresh and exciting was about to emerge. Leading local artist Mike Tavioni was already familiar with traditional patterns through his carving, and had been researching Te Rangi Hiroa’s tātatau designs. New Zealand-born Cook Islander and tātatau artist Tetini Pekepo had recently moved to Rarotonga and was keen to express himself in skin art again. And local enthusiast Ben Nichols had taught himself to tatau, ironically with the help of former inmates he came into contact with in his job as a probation officer. He was also doing his own research into designs and drawing inspiration from the symbols and cultural heritage of his home island of Aitutaki. Keen to put theory into practice, Nichols joined Tavioni, and together they began to tatau each other as well as friends and family members.3 By the time the Festival of Pacific Arts had been and gone, the seeds of a revival had been well and truly planted. Nichols and Tavioni were getting more requests for tattoos, with traditional motifs at the top of the wish list. Increasingly, requests for tātatau came from the growing fraternity of outrigger canoe and ocean voyage devotees. One of those was the late Boye Nicholas, a youngster who was a talented artist but who had not yet decided on his path in life. Because of job commitments, Nichols remained only a part-time tattooist, but Tavioni trained up a young apprentice, James Mani, to assist him as the requests for tattoos ballooned. Tavioni says he tattooed some 2,600 ...

THE RENAISSANCE 3

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... clients in the period following the festival and approaching the end of the 1990s. The work must have taken its toll as, by the end of the millennium, Tavioni had given up completely as a tattooist, preferring to focus on his career as a sculptor and writer, while his apprentice, Mani, had left for Australia. Nichols, who had been such a stalwart for Tavioni and the small cabal of Cook Islands tattoo enthusiasts, had emigrated overseas.Artistically, neither Tavioni nor Nichols had strayed too far from the body of known Cook Islands tātatau patterns, as recorded by Te Rangi Hiroa and his contemporaries. In much of their work, they faithfully reproduced those designs, with few of their own flourishes. However, the way in which the various designs were connected or placed on the body was very much at the discretion of the artist and his client.By the new millennium, Pekepo was well established as the foremost tattooist on Rarotonga. His small studio – firstly at his home in Arorangi and later on the Avarua waterfront – was always full of local and overseas clients. Tourists would visit for a memento of their holiday, while locals, mostly affiliated with sports clubs, would wear tattoos like sports colours. Unlike Nichols and Tavioni, Pekepo chose to reinterpret the traditional designs and give them his own stamp.By this time, voyaging enthusiast Boye Nicholas had permanently swapped his sea legs for a tattoo gun and was fast fashioning a reputation of his own. He was travelling a lot to New Zealand and hadn’t yet settled, despite being implored to take on clients by Pekepo, who was becoming inundated. In 2005 Pekepo brought his 17-year-old niece, Stormy, to Rarotonga from New Zealand as his apprentice; she remained with him for nine months before opening her own tattoo studio.Meanwhile, Nicholas was well on his way to becoming a respected tattooist. He was more settled and had a star- studded clientele, which included international sports and pop stars. Just like Pekepo, Nicholas chose to create his own body of traditionally inspired work, but unlike Pekepo he went much further in fashioning his own design ethic – a melting pot of Polynesian culture, referencing Cook Islands, Marquesan, New Zealand Maori, Hawaiian and neo-tribal influences. Understandably, his work proved very popular among young people. He has set himself up in a studio at the local market and took on his younger brother Clive as an assistant.Because of the quality of their work and their prolific output, both Pekepo and Nicholas helped change the face of Cook Islands tattooing and inspired other Cook Islanders to take up the art. Pekepo’s niece Stormy Kara, set up a tattoo shop in Rarotonga for a couple of years and enjoyed a steady stream of clients. She is presently in New Zealand studying the art of “whakairo” or Maori carving. Meanwhile Clive Nicholas has gone from strength to strength. Since the tragic death of his brother Boye, he has taken over the tattoo shop in the market. Prior to that Clive had already proven he had a talent to rival his brother’s. Other artists are emerging on the island, yet to make a name for themselves. In New Zealand several young Cook Islanders are known to be practicing and creating traditionally-inspired designs. In Australia, Mike Tavioni’s one-time apprentice, James Mani, is fast carving out a reputation for himself to rival his more well-known contemporaries. No doubt more young tattooists will emerge as time marches on.

THE RENAISSANCE | Section two

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In ancient times, tātatau were worn to adorn a person and to denote status. Ironically, in modern times, few people of status would be seen wearing a traditional tātatau of any sort. There is one exception, however, in the form of Rarotongan Paramount Chief Pa Ariki. Perhaps because of her relative youth, Pa represents a new breed of ariki, one who is as comfortable with traditional customs and practices as she is with her Christian beliefs. In 1996 Pa was a member of the crew that sailed the voyaging canoe Te ‘Au O Tonga to Samoa for the Festival of Pacific Arts. While she was in Apia, she was inspired to get a traditional tātatau, and it was one of Samoa’s favourite sons who obliged, tātatau artist Su‘a Paulo Suluape. For her tātatau, Pa chose Cook Islands symbols and designs pertinent to her status and tribal area, embellished with Samoan motifs marking the voyage. The result is an intricate tātatau that winds around her wrist and the upper part of her hand like a glove. For Pa, the tātatau represents a sense of achievement – she has sailed the great ocean of Kiva to Samoa; she is the traditional leader of her people.Today, many more Cook Islanders are wearing traditionally inspired tātatau. This renaissance means that tātatau no longer carries a social stigma, and it is helping uncover a rich tātatau heritage that few people knew existed. For many proud wearers of tātatau, becoming tattooed is a personal journey that will remain with them forever.